Compulsion
by Dark and Twisted Contest
Summary: For me it has always been about the blood. Watching it flowing thick and crimson takes me somewhere else, to my happy place and lately I've been euphoric.


_**Contest entry for the 'A Journey into Dark and Twisted' **_

_**Title:**__ Compulsion_

_**Prompts Used:**__ Group B 2:5 and Group C 1 — __(Prompt C #1 is a manip by Beffers87)_

_**Pairing**__: Edward_

_**Rating:**__ M_

_**Word Count:**__ 7125_

_**Summary:**__ For me it has always been about the blood. Watching it flowing thick and crimson takes me somewhere else, to my happy place and lately I've been euphoric._

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Twilight or the characters. This is written for fun and not for commercial gain, no copyrite infringement is intended._

* * *

_COMPULSION_

Fuck!

Watching Edward take a long hard drag on his cigarette while his hands and chest were still daubed with fresh blood was the most erotic thing I'd seen in a long time. I could smell the damned thing, of course. It's aroma familiar and tempting, pulling me in. Just seeing the way his lips pursed on the filter while his cheeks hollowed out to suck the hot smoke into his lungs had an effect on me. He shivered, feeling the instant, calming relief flood through his system. His eyes sliding half-way closed and his jaw flexing as the tension ebbed from his body. It was a habit I'd managed to quit three years ago but, on nights like this, it was so much harder to fight the urge to reach across and light one up.

He glanced down at himself and raised an eyebrow as he ran the blood-stained fingers of his free hand over his freshly shaven chest and down to his abdomen. His fingers leaving a trail of swirly red patterns over his smooth flesh. I was touched by his concern when he made sure to blow out the huge puff of smoke from the corner of his mouth, taking special care to twist his head and aim it away from me. He knows it wouldn't take much to get me to start up again. He smirked when he realized I was staring. I couldn't help myself; it was so sensual, seeing how the precious, crimson fluid smeared across his pale skin. I'm fascinated by how it clings to the lines of his body, sticky and glistening in the sickly yellow lamplight. He reeked of it…blood and smoke, a mixture of death and passion. He was magnificent. I felt myself getting hard just looking at him. Not because of his nakedness. His body is my body, there's nothing to excite me there. It's the blood. For me it has always been about the blood.

"Stop looking like you want one. You know these things'll kill you," he said, ignoring both my eyes and my growing erection. Instead, he took another drag before flicking the ash from the tip. I watched it drift down to settle on the plastic sheeting with which we'd carefully covered the floor.

"We've all gotta go some way," I mumbled. He turned away and started to peel the polythene sheets from the walls. My eyes flickered momentarily to the woman in the bathtub, her wrist draped over the edge. Long red nails and the way her fingers were curled made her hand look like a claw. I tried to remember her name and drew a blank. It was something foreign-sounding with a K. . .Kemi or Kebi, possibly. I wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. She didn't need a name anymore. She was just another crime statistic now. I felt a jolt of excitement in anticipation of her obligatory appearance on the news. Edward threw the sheeting to the floor before slipping into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He ran a finger along her arm as he strolled past before scratching his naked ass, leaving a smear of red across one cheek.

Ke…, whatever her name was, would be reported as a woman last seen leaving a club after talking to a tall blonde stranger with thick stubble and a full sleeve of ink before checking into a hotel room alone, only to be found dead and mysteriously drained the next day. I watched him check the gashes in her neck and stomach before stepping into the shower and letting the hot spray wash the evidence of our depraved compulsions and his cigarette butt down the drain. Speaking of draining, she was emptying nicely. It wouldn't be long until we could make the switch without too much mess. I let my hand fall to my engorged cock and allowed myself a couple of firm strokes up and down its length. I couldn't risk ejaculating in case a rogue droplet landed on the now uncovered wall or lampshade, but I could afford a couple of minutes to bring myself down from my high. As far as I knew, no one ever died from masturbationus interruptus. Yeah, I just made that shit up.

I moved my hand languidly and let my mind drift, remembering back to the hook-up.

I'd arrived at the club early, checking the crowd for what we needed. Not that we were ever very choosy. Female was the main requirement. She didn't need to fit a specific profile. We weren't particularly angry with blondes or redheads. It didn't need to be someone who reminded us of an abusive relative. That shit was just creepy. Besides, we were lucky. Both our childhoods, although separate, had been as close to idyllic as you could get. The fact we didn't stick with any particular "type" worked in our favor. Seven murders across seven different states and no one had connected them. . . yet.

While I sipped my sparkling water through the short straw I'd brought with me, I scoped around for the woman who would be tonight's star performer. Edward was already in the theater, watching a performance of Cats. I checked my watch, knowing it had to be close to intermission time. He would be visiting the bar, making sure to trip and spill his drink on someone before the second half started. He needed to hand them my business card and insist they send him the dry cleaning bill. It was vital he was seen and remembered by as many people as possible. He was providing my alibi.

It was hot in the club and my wig itched like a bitch but I ignored the urge to scratch my head. I didn't want any of the security cameras to pick up on it moving. I wasn't going to all this trouble to make such an amateur error. My hands were already sweating under the thin latex gloves. The powder on the inside did little to absorb my perspiration but, in the poor light they didn't look obvious the way leather ones would. I could ignore the discomfort. I choose, instead, to focus on the bubbling excitement in my gut.

This part of the scheme was always deliciously empowering. For the next half hour or so, I was God, wielding the ultimate power of life or death over anyone in the club unfortunate enough to catch my eye. I adjusted my position on my stool for comfort as I felt a shiver of almost sexual excitement at the anticipation of making my selection.

I spotted her, wobbling and slightly unfocussed after drinking a little too much. The red and blue flashing lights painted her in ghastly hues. She seemed to be alone. I guessed her to be older than me by ten, maybe twelve years. No rings and no indentation or tan marks hinted where one might regularly sit. Low cut top, too short skirt and slut shoes made it obvious. She was a cougar on the prowl for a younger man.

Well, tonight she was going to hit the jackpot with two energetic young bucks for the price of one.

I'd booked the cheap hotel room and Broadway show tickets months ago, being careful to use my real name. I didn't employ smoke and mirrors. I preferred to hide in plain sight. It tested my intellect and added to the thrill. Google helped immensely, allowing me to view layouts of the floors of the hotel and even to check out the exterior. I chose the hotel carefully. The rooms at the rear had fire escapes with balconies connecting three lots of rooms together. Best of all, there was no security camera in the alley running along the back. I made sure to request a room without a view, explaining how I was traveling alone and only needed a bed to crash for the night after taking in a show. It worked like a charm and I was allocated a nice, quiet room facing a brick wall at the rear of the building.

Two days after receiving the confirmation with my room number, Edward made a trip out of town to send a typed letter to the hotel. He booked the adjoining numbered room for two nights in the name of Mr. J. Black, explaining it was to be a surprise anniversary treat, since that was the very room where the Blacks first spent a night together. How lovely. . .an evening revisiting the flea pit with a view of the dumpster where you first bumped uglies. Even I was more romantic than that and I'm nefarious. A cash payment was enclosed, together with a request to confirm the room was available via text message to a cell phone, unregistered of course. Heaven forbid they tip off Mrs. Black to the booking and spoil the surprise.

This was pivotal to the plan and waiting for the reply gave us a nerve wracking three-day wait. If the message said "no can do," the whole scenario would have to be aborted and a fresh city and hotel selected.

Yesterday, I made a call to the hotel to confirm they were fully booked and, on my way to the club tonight, I made another call from a public pay phone posing as Mr. Black. I canceled our second booking with an apology for wasting their time and requested they keep the payment since it was such short notice.

I was so lucky to have found Edward. We were a perfect team. . .two sides of the same twisted coin. He was the ruthless butcher who thrilled in the savagery of the kill, needing to feel the rush of power being in control gave him as he drained a life force. He was always the one to draw the blade. However, his eagerness made him sloppy. I was the brains, the voyeur, the one who preferred to watch and the one who knew how to cover our tracks.

It was funny how we had developed such similar tendencies and quirks, a clear example of nature winning out over nurture. We grew up a hundred miles apart and while Edward was finding himself by strangling cats and dissecting live frogs, I was fascinated by the grotesqueness of death. I picked up road kill, preserving the specimens in their twisted final death throes. My adopted parents quickly labeled my morbid curiosity as an interest in science and the early signs that might one day lead me to a career as a surgeon or a veterinarian. I scoff at their naivety. They were even happy for me to keep my formaldehyde-soaked freak show on a shelf in my bedroom.

When puberty came along and masturbating to the macabre images wasn't quite doing it for me, I slowly realized it was the lack of blood. My collection was all clean and yellowed in their fluid-filled jars but I needed to see the thick, red substance and, if it was flowing, then that was even better. It was why I started to cut myself. . .my legs, mainly. I knew scars on the forearms were hard to cover up and quickly drew unwanted attention. Only those who were crying for help chose that spot. I wasn't depressed. . .quite the opposite, I was euphoric. I could shrug off marks on my legs as injuries from falling off a bike or slipping out of a tree and I could hide them under clothing easy enough, too. The other benefit of choosing my legs was their proximity to my cock. I could see the blood oozing while I watched my hand move and, when I climaxed, the red and the white combined to give me a high which lasted for hours.

I never lost it, that draw to the red stuff. It was my Sword of Damocles. The one thing I worshiped and lived for and the one thing which could eventually bring me down. I knew I would always need it in my life so I channeled my career in that direction. I wasn't interested in becoming a surgeon. It wouldn't have allowed me the freedom to indulge. I would need to be focused on stitching and saving. That held no appeal. I wanted time to revel and enjoy. Crime scene investigator was ideal. I got to visit the murder scenes, often with the victim still there. I was asked to photograph and sometimes I was allowed to touch. No one cared how long I stared or how close I got. It was all part of the job. . .gathering evidence, working the story backwards from the murder. Catching a killer by a single strand of hair or a fiber from his car seat only happened on TV.

I knew every trick in the book. Besides, if I hadn't chosen this job, I never would have met Edward.

Four years ago, I was called to a murder scene. A maid at a sleazy motel upstate had made a gruesome discovery when she let herself in to clean room 101. My lips twitched with the irony. I wondered if the killer realized the Orwellian connection when he chose… Who am I kidding? Of course he did. It was the room number I would have selected, too.

My mind doesn't work like my colleagues. They are disgusted by the depravity we witness, balancing the horror with a drive to catch the perpetrators. I am more in awe of them since they do what I never had the courage to do. They live the dream.

The cop on the door grimaced as he pulled back the tape and let us through. My eyes quickly scanned the room. The woman lay draped across the bed. Deep, frenzied gashes glistened wetly around her throat and all over her torso. I knew from the pattern of the spray on the walls that she'd been killed on the bed and not displayed there afterwards. Red marks on her wrists and ankles showed she'd fought fiercely against restraints. Her jaw was wide open, indicating a possible gag had been used to silence her screams. He certainly would've needed something to keep the noise down. These places weren't known for the soundproofing in the walls.

I started to photograph, officially for the case, but partly for my perusal later. Close-ups of this mystery man's work were essential. No two murderers are ever alike. Some are precise, calculated, leaving clean wounds and little evidence. Some use brute strength, strangling or suffocating their victim. Others are crazies who revel in the chaos, bludgeoning and leaving as much mess as possible. Those are the cases I look forward to the most, the ones with drenched walls and ceilings, and blood-stained weapons. Regardless of their style, they are all artists to me, each one leaving unique brushstrokes on their canvas.

After taking close to a hundred photographs, I was ready to put the camera away. As I left the room and crossed the parking lot, I glanced at the small group of gawking gore hounds who'd already gathered by the police tape to see if they could catch a glimpse of the victim. I smirked. They would love to be in my shoes with a front row seat to the spectacle. There was one guy at the end who caught my eye. He stood a few feet away from the main group and seemed nervous, clenching his fists repeatedly and pacing back and forth. He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were fixed on room 101. I don't know how I knew, but I did. It wasn't nerves he was suffering from, it was excitement. He was the one. It was his work I was cataloging. Taking a second to squint against the sun, I focused solely on him and almost dropped my camera in shock.

It was me! My face…my body…my double!

He wasn't looking in my direction. Then again, in my shapeless white suit and mask, I was hardly noteworthy. I was torn between running over to him and running away. Who was he? I'd always known I'd been adopted as a small child and, while my upbringing had been safe and nurturing, I didn't have particularly close bonds with my adoptive family. I never felt the need to look up my birth details, either. Having a family didn't hold any strong appeal. As long as I was okay, I didn't see the point in complicating my life by having extra people around. But now, I was burning to know if this man who wears my face and feels as drawn to blood as I do might, in some way, be related to me.

I didn't breathe a word of it to anyone, not even about the used condom I found discarded under the bed. He might be driven but he was careless. Something like that could convict him. I should've bagged it, but my need to know was greater. Instead, I slipped it into my pocket and discreetly arranged a DNA test against a sample of my own.

It was a perfect match. He wasn't just my brother, he was my twin.

I spent the next couple of months researching my background and, sure enough, I was one of a pair of identical twins, each of us adopted by different parents. His name was Edward and, once I uncovered the name of his adopted parents, I started tracking him down.

I watched his apartment on and off over three days, taking the chance to observe him without his knowledge. Like most people, he had a routine. Every morning, he walked a block to buy a paper and coffee. He had a day job as a chef in an Italian restaurant. He even had a pooch. He oozed normality. No one else would raise an eyebrow, except perhaps to question why such a good looking guy was still single. But I knew the monster that lurked beneath his surface. Here was a man who worked with knives for a living yet the jagged savagery with which he wielded them on his victim showed his self-control was holding on by a thread. The bruises around the cuts told me of the force he used as he pounded the blade into the woman's flesh.

I wondered how to introduce myself. "Hello, Edward. I'm Masen, your twin brother. I haven't seen you since you were three months old. Oh, and by the way, I know you're a homicidal maniac. But don't worry…I have the same obsession, so your secret is safe with me."

Maybe not.

In the end, I simply walked up to his front door and rang the bell. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped when he saw me standing there. It was the same reaction I'd had when I saw him for the first time and, for a second, my confidence dipped as I wondered if he even knew he'd been adopted. I held the file of papers out for him to take and he cautiously flicked through the pages.

Sitting on Edward's couch while he made me coffee was surreal. I glanced around and was surprised to see how similar our tastes were. He kept it as minimal as I did. There were few things I had any real attachment to. I didn't feel the need to keep souvenirs of my past. It was all just stuff and, when I died, it would only be left behind to fill up a dumpster.

"So, Masen," he chuckled, his eyes not smiling in the slightest. I knew the expression well. It was the same one I used to be polite to the people who bored me. "How did you manage to track me down?"

"I work for the cops." I let the words hang in the air, watching for his reaction. He might be my blood, but he was still a stranger and a killer. He faltered, but didn't let the serenity of his mask slip.

"Cop? Wow! That must be an interesting job." He spooned some sugar into his cup and stirred it around slowly, his fingers gripping the handle of the spoon tightly.

"Umm, I'm Homicide, actually." I paused, my eyes fixed on him. The next line could make or break of our meeting. I kept my tone even and almost sounded disinterested as I said, "I saw you at room 101."

His head whipped up, unsure if this was a trap. Through the clarity of his green eyes, I could see his brain whirling at a hundred miles an hour, confusion, anger and panic all jostling for the upper hand. I gave him some time to cogitate while I took a sip of my drink.

"You're very sloppy. I found the condom under the bed. That's how I made the DNA match."

He was stunned to realize I'd found crucial evidence. Suddenly having to get rid of an annoying, long lost twin was the least of his worries.

"What did you do with it? The condom, I mean." He tried to sound casual but I knew he was desperate to know.

"Relax. I won't turn you in." He sat back on the sofa but still looked suspicious and quite rightly so. It's not every day you come across someone who doesn't turn a hair when they find out you've butchered someone, probably for no good reason. I downed the rest of my drink.

"Was she your first?" He raised an eyebrow. This was clearly not a conversation he'd ever expected to have with anyone. The fact that I knew his secret must've made him feel a compulsion to finally release his dark secret into the open air.

"No…I've done it once before. I buried a body in the woods. It hasn't been found, yet." He chewed on his lip, not sure if he was doing the right thing but, on the other hand, almost relieved to share the burden. I wondered why he buried the first victim but chose to leave the second one exposed. Did he feel a wave of shame or regret the first time that drove him to conceal what he'd done? Did his confidence in his convictions grow so quickly it allowed him to showcase to the world what he was capable of the second time round? Or was he just lying?

"Who was she?" I wanted to gauge the depth of his depravity and wondered if she was someone he knew well, or whether she was a random pick up.

"They were both hookers." He shuffled in his seat. Maybe he thought I'd judge him for his choice in victims. I wouldn't of course. I have no compunction over how he gets his kicks.

"It must be quite a feeling." Did he pick up on the wistful look in my expression, or the awe in my tone? I didn't know, but he sensed something as he slowly opened up to me and I to him. It poured out from me. A lifetime of repressing and concealing my true nature released instantly, like gas from a shaken soda can. I'd never felt so liberated or alive. We talked all afternoon. Neither of us knew much about our family history or why we shared this fascination with death and blood. Could it be ingrained in our psyche from an unknown relative, a special trait we'd inherited, or perhaps we'd been vampires in a past life? Who knew? One thing was certain; it gave us a special bond, one transcending mere DNA and bloodlines. I left his apartment knowing I could trust Edward with my life. More than that, I knew I'd do whatever it took to protect him, too.

So, that was how I came to be stalking across the sticky carpet of a dingy night club like a lion, about to ask a stranger to follow me like a lamb to the slaughter. Edward and I had all-consuming compulsions which drove us to kill. Although I would probably never have the guts to do it myself, I got off on watching him. Being identical twins made it all the better. I could watch the act as if it were me carrying it out, like some bizarre form of morbid Candaulism. The victim might not be my sexual partner, but I was exposing her to Edward for his pleasure and reaping my own from watching him take her in the most permanent of ways.

"Hey, sugar," I crooned into her ear when I finally made it to her side. "How would you like to be my fantasy tonight?"

"Fantasy" being the operative word. I could barely contain my excitement at her obliviousness.

"Angel!" she squealed as she looked me up and down with her booze-soaked eyes, her face lighting up as if she liked what she saw. "I'll be your sugar any time."

No, you'll be my sugar one time. I slid an arm around her shoulders, being careful to keep my gloved hand out of sight and gently, but firmly, steered her towards the exit.

She stopped to rummage in her purse then squinted to make out the numbers in the poor light. "Let me just send my son a message so he knows I'm not coming home tonight."

Shit! A son. The image of a young toddler with chubby cheeks and a wide grin filled my mind. I faltered.

"How old is he?" She instantly looked embarrassed and defensive as she stuffed the phone back in her bag.

"Um, twenty-one. Does it matter?"

An adult. Relief washed over me.

"Not anymore. Tell me; what's your name, sugar?" I grinned and her expression softened again. Just to make sure, I ran a finger along the back of her arm and felt her shiver.

"Kebi, Kebi Amun. What's yours?"

"I'm James Hunter." She smiled and slipped her arm around my waist.

"Where are we going?" she asked hesitantly as I moved us through the streets towards the hotel.

She was starting to feel uneasy. I spun her to face me and pulled her in for a kiss. It had to be passionate and convincing enough to blow away the last shreds of her reservations. I snaked an arm around her waist, holding her flush against my chest as my lips moved against hers and I felt her start to yield. Only when her hands began to slide up towards my neck did I pull back, not wanting her to find out too soon that my mane of blonde hair wasn't real.

"Here, sugar," I said, handing her a hundred dollars. "See that hotel over there? Why don't you book us a room and I'll get some champagne from the store to make this a perfect night."

"Sure, just don't keep me waiting too long," she giggled, spinning off towards the hotel. I watched from across the street as she stood in the lobby and handed over the cash for a key. I already knew the room number. There was only one possible room available; the one the Blacks had cancelled an hour ago. Even so, I needed to be sure.

I pulled out my cell and quickly shot Edward a text before grabbing the cheapest bottle of fizzy wine in the grocery store and a pack of plastic cups. He must have been waiting in a bar close by because I saw him climbing the steps to the hotel lobby as I crossed the street. His eyes made contact for the briefest of seconds as he held the door open for us both.

"Excuse me." I asked the desk clerk in my best attempt at a southern drawl. "My girlfriend, Miss Amun, just paid for a room here and I need to know the number. She may have used my name, Mr. Hunter."

The clerk checked the records before giving me the room number. I was careful not to mouth the door number back as he reeled it off, or look too delighted that things were falling perfectly into place. Edward stood behind me fidgeting slightly, pretending my conversation was annoying him somehow. . .all part of the act. His movements were being caught on the security camera in the lobby and we needed this to look right.

I thanked the guy and strode towards the stairs. Without looking back, I heard Edward making a request to be let back into his room, having accidentally on purpose left his key inside.

Taking the stairs as Edward and the desk clerk entered the elevator, I waited behind the doors until I heard them in the hallway.

"Yeah, the show was great. But I'm so beat right now, I'm ready to crash for the night. Thanks again, Charles."

I smiled. Oh, he was good. Using the guy's name made him more likely to remember the interaction. When I heard the elevator doors ping closed, I waited a few more minutes to allow Edward to finish setting the stage he'd partially prepared earlier. Finally, I stepped out into the corridor and knocked on her door.

"Angel," she purred. "I thought you'd changed your mind."

"Never," I smirked, walking past her into the dingy room. "I brought booze. You want some?"

"Sure." She licked her lips and swayed towards me, her arms moving up to embrace me again. I took a step back to keep her from touching the wig. It wasn't quite time to make the grand reveal.

"It's hot in here. I'm gonna go cool off." Picking up the bottle and cups, I opened the large window onto the wrought iron balcony and crawled out. She frowned a little but followed willingly when I crooked a finger and beckoned her outside.

Edward was already there, standing naked in the shadows beneath the fire escape ladder. I could see the moonlight faintly illuminating the muscles under his smooth skin. There wasn't a hair on his body, nor mine, for that matter. We'd both made sure to fully shave ourselves. There would be no stray hairs found in her room or on her body. Even our heads had been closely cropped. We were lucky our strong features could carry off such a severe style. I poured us both some wine and, as I turned to put the bottle down, I flicked the back open on the silver ring I wore to drop some powder into her cup. She didn't see me swirl the contents and had no reason to suspect anything was wrong as I downed a huge gulp from my own cup and grimaced against the taste.

"Cheers," she smirked, raising the cup to her lips and swallowing down a large mouthful. "Jeeze, that stuff's rough."

"Do you like it rough?" I whispered, tilting the cup against her lips to encourage her to take a second mouthful. She giggled and swallowed again. I let my free hand wander over her thigh, stroking up in a large arc from her hip up to her breast. She closed her eyes and groaned as my thumb brushed against her nipple.

Edward silently moved behind her. She was humming as I pressed the drink to her lips again and cajoled her to finish it off. Her eyes were closed when he placed his hands on her hips and began caressing her body while I stood back to watch. She was starting to sway as the effects of the drug began slowing her down and making her feel fuzzy. Somewhere in the depth of her consciousness, her mind recognized that the hands moving on her body were going in the wrong direction. Sliding her eyelids open, she saw me leaning against the balcony two feet away, the wig, beard and fake sleeve of ink removed, nothing but a giant grin plastered across my triumphant face.

"Angel?" she gasped as Edward swiftly pulled her tight against his body and covered her mouth with one hand.

"Oh, I'm no angel," he whispered in her ear as I walked past them and climbed in through Edward's and my room window. "I'm the Devil himself."

She started to struggle as realization dawned, but it was futile. Edward was strong and the drug was already in her bloodstream, slowing her down and making her limbs feel like lead. It wouldn't knock her out completely…just make her more "compliant" to our needs. I crawled back out with the gag and Edward held her while I fastened it in place. As her body relaxed, so did his grip. We managed to coax her into our room with very little effort and I scampered back out to retrieve my disguise, together with the wine and cups.

Edward carefully undressed her before moving her body onto the bed. For a while, we all lay together on the plastic sheet, him on one side, me on the other, with her sandwiched between us. I already knew he wouldn't have sex with her. The way these "events" were so well executed not only guaranteed his safety but also made them less frantic and sexually appealing for him. Besides, I didn't think he felt comfortable letting go sexually in front of an audience. She made some small movements, her head flopping from side to side as her eyes refused to focus. Edward reached out, stroking the back of his finger along her cheek and made shushing noises. She whimpered and the sound made him smile.

This is a precious time for us. . .anticipation, the chance to savor the moment, the calm before the storm. For this short time, we are one, connected in a way no two people ever will be. He glanced across her body at me and raised his eyebrows. Knowing exactly what he meant, I nodded my reply and, in unison, we rolled from the bed.

He dug around in my overnight bag to find the cable ties and quickly secured her ankles while I fastened her wrists in place. I won't take part in the actual kill. Participating isn't the same as watching. I might have missed some small detail and, besides, I wouldn't want to have taken the pleasure away from Edward. I'm honored enough that he trusts me to be involved in the prep work.

My presence reined him in, making him less savage. Moving to a covered seat in the corner I pulled a condom from my pocket and slid it onto my already tumescent cock. There's no need for me to be ashamed in front of my brother. I suppose I should feel mortified that he knows I'll be masturbating to his performance, but he doesn't judge. I made my first stroke as he lifted the knife, twisting the blade high in the air, the light glinting menacingly off the cold steel. He's letting me get my fill and building the tension. In that moment, I knew everything I am was accepted. I felt safe and, above all, loved.

My hand moved faster as the first spurt of red sprayed across his chest. I was lost in rapture, my otherwise vanilla existence melting away. This was what I lived for. I couldn't look away, not for a second. I stared so hard the rest of the room seemed to blur at the periphery, dissolving into a charcoal nothingness. The only thing that mattered was Edward and me and the red stuff as I hurtled towards my release.

Edward's bloody hand finally stilled the knife. It was done. He was kneeling alongside her limp body, breathing heavily. Killing took him to another place. It was somewhere different to where I escaped but, like two puzzle pieces, we meshed together perfectly. His violence and my need for the visual was a magical combination.

He used the tip of the blade to snap open the plastic ties and cast the knife to the side as he reverently picked up…Kali, was it? and gently deposited her in the bathtub. We would let the bleeding stop before we cleaned her up and moved her back to her own room. He calmed himself by smoking a cigarette before making a move to pull down the polythene from the walls and ceiling. The bathroom would be cleaned up last.

Edward finished in the shower and stood in the doorway.

"Your turn, bro." He tagged me as I passed. Hopping into the stall, I washed my body clean while Kibi's? empty eyes stared at me.

Cleaning up the room was getting easier the more we did it. It was almost like a military operation. Once the blood had stopped oozing, we hosed "K" down and carried her carefully back through the fire escape to her room and laid her under the comforter. Apart from the glassy stare, she looked strangely peaceful.

Back in our room, we unfastened the remainder of the thin plastic sheeting that had lined the room, rolling it up tightly and stuffing it back into my overnight bag along with the knife, cable ties, gloves, used condom and the plastic cups. Nothing would be left behind to connect me to the woman next door. While I cleaned up the bath and shower cubicle, Edward slipped into the clothes I'd previously worn. He pulled on the wig and fake tattoos before applying fresh glue to make the false beard stick in place.

I watched him transform into James Hunter and a wave of pure love crashed over me. This was my brother…the thunder to my rain. The one person in this world I couldn't bear to lose, ever. Reading my expression he stalked over and placed a single kiss on my forehead before slipping out through the window and crawling back into her room.

I lay in bed listening for the click of the window closing and the sound of Edward leaving through her door. The cameras in the hallway would identify him up as the same man who had followed her into the room earlier and he would be the one the cops would be searching for but never find. Mr. Hunter, a man who would disappear like smoke in the wind, was nothing more than a figment of our debauched imaginations.

My sleep was deep and satisfying that night. Being able to lie on the scene of the act was particularly pleasing. The six am wake-up call came too quickly, jolting me back to reality. I stretched in the sheets, replaying last night's events through my mind for the umpteenth time. Edward would be home by now, burning any evidence that Mr. Hunter had ever existed. I planned to meet with him tonight to dispose of the plastic and run through our stories. I would need descriptions of the drink he'd bought in the theater, the person he spilled it over and the name of the bar where he'd waited for my call.

I checked out at seven am after cleaning the bathtub and shower with bleach and a scrubbing brush for the second time. I was willing to bet this fucking place had never been so clean. But this was the one place where our game could be discovered. The body had to congeal in situ. We couldn't risk a drop of blood landing on the window ledge or the balcony when we carried her back. It would give our game away. Instead, I left the cold tap running all night, just to make sure any trace of her blood was rinsed clear through the plumbing.

Keeping a tight hold of my overnight bag, I collected my car from the lot. Last night had been amazing. I loved watching Edward loosen the grip on his sanity almost as much as I reveled in the fountains of blood. It would give me what I needed to keep going until we could start planning for the next time.

I stopped off at a service station and grabbed some lunch. Switching off my unregistered cell phone, I removed the chip, tucked it inside the sandwich wrapper and dropped it into one of the trash cans. Apart from the contents of my bag, it was the only thing that could possibly tie me to the crime.

Home.

The curtains of depravity swung open to reveal signs of normalcy the instant I pulled onto the driveway. Here was quiet, safe and boring. I ditched my bag in the trunk and painted a neutral expression on my face as I slid the key into the lock.

"Daddy!" my three-year-old squealed as he came bounding into the hallway before crashing into my legs.

"Hey, Jasper. Miss me much?" I inquired, trying not to sound robotic as I peeled his arms away to let me walk.

"We both did. Was the conference worth the trip?"

Bella…my wife. She's the person who keeps my life on an even keel by lending me a much needed veneer of respectability.

"Hey, honey. I missed you, too," I lied, pulling her in and kissing her greedily. She melted in my arms, delighted to have found such a loving and devoted husband. With my eyes closed, I pictured Edward swinging the blood-soaked knife and pressed my growing erection into her hip. She gasped softly, believing she does this to me. I don't correct her. It's far easier that way.

"So," she crooned, her voice becoming heavy with lust as she stroked her hand along my forearm. I tried not to flinch at the contact. It didn't fit with the images of Edward's actions in my mind and set my teeth on edge. "Did you learn how to catch bad guys?"

"Yeah, but. . .what if I'm the bad guy?" I growled, bending down to nip at the tender flesh of her neck. If Jasper weren't around, I might accidentally have bitten a little too hard to see if I could draw blood. She gasped before dismissing my comment as nothing more than playful banter, but I saw the fleeting spark of uncertainty in her eyes.

Jasper had disappeared, gone back to watching cartoons, no doubt. I think of the dark, red liquid pulsing beneath the surface of her alabaster skin and can't help imagining how erotic it would be to release it. Wishing for a chance to watch it flow and spread across her breasts and belly, the vision had my erection throbbing painfully. I gave a low hiss and clutched her forearm as I pulled her towards the bedroom. Her eyes widened and she giggled, thinking the glint in my eye was nothing more than animal lust. She had no idea the true nature of the beast contained within my soul.

My wife doesn't know about Edward; no one does. He's my deepest, darkest secret and the only person in this whole twisted world I truly care about; the one person I would kill to protect.

* * *

**Host's Note: Show the author some love by submitting a review. Add us to author alert to be notified of new stories.**

**We will begin accepting submissions August 1, 2013. Submissions will close at 11:59pm (EST) on Sept 15, 2013.**


End file.
